


and I’ll hold you tight

by GlitterDwarf



Series: wouldn't it be nice to get some closure? [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bottom Richie Tozier, Canon-Typical Violence, EEEEEVERYONE, Everyone lives, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Eddie's injuries, Negative Body Image, Praise Kink, Richie Tozier Has a Hair-Pulling Kink, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, negative self-talk, sacreligious insults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterDwarf/pseuds/GlitterDwarf
Summary: When Eddie steps out of the doors to the airport, Richie’s dumb, gay little heart stops for a second.When Richie's Netflix special drops, he decides to hide from the world for a couple of days and take Eddie with him. Despite how much he tries, Richie can't hold back from touching Eddie. A lot.A companion piece to "I'm just gonna concentrate on you," from Richie's perspective.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak (past), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: wouldn't it be nice to get some closure? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710127
Comments: 6
Kudos: 208





	and I’ll hold you tight

**Author's Note:**

> OOPS I couldn't leave this story alone, so I had to write the companion piece from Richie's perspective. If you haven't read that one this might still make sense, but just in case, you can head on over to [read it here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607505)
> 
> Unlike the last one, this one gets a lil explicit. If that isn't your thing, or if you're too YOUNG FOR THAT (you know who you areeee) you can read until they start making out and then nope away, please!
> 
> Potential trigger warnings, also tagged: near the beginning, there are mentions of Eddie's injuries from Pennywise and the blood/gore; Richie's internal monologue includes a lot of negative self-talk and bad self-image; a lot of sacrilegious cussing lmao

When Eddie steps out of the doors to the airport, Richie’s dumb, gay little heart stops for a second. He can’t _help_ it, okay; Eddie looks annoyed, like he always does, and Richie can already imagine a thousand reasons why. Maybe they didn’t have any snacks on the 432,432-long hour flight that he could actually eat without dying; maybe his luggage bumped a little too aggressively on its way down the chute and he’s already doing calculations on how much he could sue the airline for; maybe every other passenger on the plane was a screaming baby. Whatever the reason, Richie, like the dumb idiot he is, can’t wait to hear every single complaint come out of that adorable as fuck little mouth. _Shit_ , he’s whipped. 

Richie honks the horn on his car, which is currently illegally parked in the pickup zone and getting glared at by security guards. They won’t fuck with him, he knows; they never fuck with celebrities, even if they’re D-list hacks like himself. Nobody wants to get on TMZ, and Richie can and _will_ exploit this behavior loophole if it helps his Eds at all.

“Eds!” he screams when he rolls the window down. Eddie jumps a little and turns to face the noise, and the ninety-seven wrinkles on his forehead smooth out to just ninety-six. Richie loves him. “Get your hot little ass over here!”

Oops, back up to ninety-seven wrinkles. Richie pops the trunk to his car and waits as Eddie loads the luggage in, and then comes back around the car to get in the passenger seat.

Eddie isn’t even finished putting his seatbelt on before he starts in on the “nightmare” of a flight he just endured. Richie smiles the entire time, making appropriate noises when possible. And if he can’t wait more than two minutes before abruptly pulling over on the freeway so he can unbuckle himself and launch at Eddie to engulf his entire body in a hug? Well. At least nobody else is in the car to judge him, or to comment on the truly embarrassing noise he makes when Eddie squeezes back.

—

_A hand on a shoulder, offering support, “you’re braver than you think.” Two hands clasped to arm-wrestle, a throwaway joke that Richie couldn’t stop from repeating in his head over and over. Many small moments of a hand squeezing a shoulder, a flick of an ear, a small and playful shove, squeezing another hand as he dragged Eddie deeper into the caverns and away from danger._

_But then._

_“Shit, fuck, shitballs, fuck me, motherfuck,” Richie gasped wetly, tears streaming down his face as he pushed his overshirt more firmly to Eddie’s chest. It was already completely fucking soaked, but all he could think was_ keep the pressure on it. Keep pressure on this insane fucking wound if you ever want to be able to talk to him again.

 _“It’s okay,” Stan was saying from somewhere over Richie’s shoulders, which was an insane thing to try to say. How the_ fuck _was_ any _of this okay? “He’s going to be okay.”_

_“You’re going to be okay,” Richie repeated to Eddie. He was passed out, breathing very shallow but present. They were on the lawn in front of Niebolt, waiting for the ambulance to appear. Richie wished he could be doing anything else with his hands, wanted to pet his hair, hold Eddie close, take his hands in Richie’s own and kiss them. But instead, he kept the point of contact to what Eddie actually needed._

_When they took Eddie away in the ambulance and nobody was allowed to ride with him, the rest of the Losers had to physically hold Richie back as he hysterically shouted_ no, he needs me with him, I need to be with him.

—

Richie will give it to Netflix; they really did go all out when they picked out this ridiculous as fuck Santa Barbara beach house to stick him in for a few days. 

“Just, given your history,” his agent had started explaining a month ago.

“You mean my history of fucking off and no one being able to find me?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. They just. Would feel better knowing where you are when the special drops. It would be better if you brought someone with you. Someone, you know. Trustable.”

So naturally. Eddie. Because it made sense. And also because Richie just really, really wanted to. 

Eddie had, of course, already fucked off to who knows where within five minutes of arriving at the house. Did Richie care? Maybe. Was he a little worried about his Too Much Gene getting to Eddie in the next twelve hours? Maybe. But fuck, maybe if he was murdered it would help his Netflix numbers so, you know. Whatever works.

Richie floats by himself in the pool for another ten minutes after Eddie leaves, until he can feel his skin start to get too-hot from the bright ass California sun, which means it’s time for him to skedaddle if he doesn’t want Eds to bitch at him for the next thousand years ago sunblock. When he gets out he’s suddenly reminded that he didn’t, you know, bring a towel before jumping into the pool in just his boxer briefs. So instead, Richie just kind of starfishes on the (hot, oops) concrete surrounding the pool, willing the hot concrete to quickly soak up all the water flowing off of him.

This is where Eddie finds him, a few minutes later.

“Fucking _Christ_ , are you going to be naked the _entire_ trip?” Eddie says, sounding suspiciously strangled. Richie opens his eyes but doesn’t move.

“What, and get rid of the view?” Richie teases, wiggling his hips a little. Eddie lets out another strangled “Christ,” which makes Richie grin. “Hey, have you seen my glasses anywhere? Or a towel?”

Eddie sighs and stomps off to save Richie’s life and dignity, for the millionth time in their friendship. When he comes back he dumps several things straight onto Richie’s face, setting off a new laughing fit.

“ _Here_ , you helpless fucking shart clown. Cover the fuck up! It’s a goddamn _miracle_ you haven’t lost half your skin to skin cancer yet.”

“Aw, Eds, what did I ever do without you?” Richie asks with a smile as he sits up and quickly towels off and pulls on his glasses and the overshirt Eddie brought him from his discarded trail of clothes. “Come here so Mama can give you a big thank-you kiss.”

“Gross,” Eddie huffs, but he comes and sits next to Richie anyway. Sure, he also holds up his hands and pushes Richie away when he tries to lay a big smackeroo on his cheek, but hey. He’s there.

“So,” Richie says after they’ve finished play-wrestling. “I’m sure you did a fuck ton of research. Did you see anything you wanted to do while you’re here?”

Eddie scowls at being Known, but he also starts counting off on his fingers, which is super fucking cute, unfortunately. 

“So I obviously want to do a little shopping. I have a whole new place to fill out. We could also go to the beach, or at least walk along the wharf? There are some wine tours if you’re into that. I don’t know if you’re still into animals but there’s a zoo. I also saw a couple of arcades and I thought, you know. That might be nice.”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie coos, reaching over to pinch Eddie’s cheek. “You sweet thang. But you don’t have to worry about stuff that’s fun for _me_. I just want to hang out with you.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, and he shrugs in a way that almost looks like a little shiver. “Cool. Well. Yeah. So we could do. Those things. Or whatever you want.”

“Dealio,” Richie says, flopping backward back onto the ground. “We’ll do all that. In a minute.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, and he quietly lays down as well. Richie can feel the heat coming off of their pinkies, so fucking close together, and who knows? Maybe in another universe, where Richie is braver, they might have linked them together.

—

_Eddie survived multiple surgeries, though the trauma of it all left him in a coma. Just surviving at all had the medical professionals throwing around the word “miracle,” a word that made the Losers smile ruefully. Stan would absent-mindedly rub the bandages on his forearms (like, yeah, there was a lot of that going around), and Patty—who, as it turned out, was a literal fucking saint—would rub his back and smile sadly at him. Just watching them interact was enough to make Richie’s heart ache and his hands itch to touch Eddie._

_The Losers were allowed to sit with him, and even encouraged to speak to Eddie’s sleeping form. He had a private room and the majority of the medical staff seemed unwilling to fight multiple celebrities at the same time, so they all piled into the room and spread across the couple of provided chairs, the other, empty bed, and the floor. Ben and Bev were constantly connected at the hip, both metaphorically and sometimes literally, which was really fucking nice to see. When he wasn’t staring at Eddie’s chest, making sure it was rising and falling with breaths, he was smiling at Ben and giving him goofy thumbs-ups. In return, Ben would catch Richie holding or stroking Eddie’s hand and his entire face would light up, the stupid, fucking romantic. Richie would usually drop the hand and pretend like nothing was happening, because_ of course _he was a little chickenshit, even about this._

_A few nights in, after everybody else had gone back to the hotel, Richie was finally brave enough to speak to Eddie’s body. He moved his chair as close to Eddie’s bed as it would go and leaned over, slowly stroking the hair out of his face. There were so many tubes going into his body, and it was heartbreaking to see. Sure, he was thankful that they were helping to keep his friend alive, but they were just terrible, visual reminders of how fucking close he had come to losing Eddie forever. So he stroked Eddie’s face, rubbed lightly against the couple days of beard growth, then took Eddie’s hand between both of his. It looked so tiny, so frail between his gigantic, monster hands, and just the sight made Richie tremble in his chair._

_“Eddie, baby, I don’t care what it takes, I’m gonna get you to wake up. I’ll be here when you get back to us._ Please _, just get back to us. I need you here. I need you to be okay. If that clown fucker weren’t already dead I would gut him a fucking billion more times just for doing this to you, I can’t...I just. Need you here. Okay? Just get back here. Fuck. Eddie. I think I. I think I lo--”_

_A shoe scuffed behind him, and Richie jumped in his seat and whirled around._

_It was just Ben._ Fuck _._

_“Oh, uh. Hey, Benny Boy.”_

_“Shit, Rich. I’m sorry, I didn’t…”_

_“It’s okay,” Richie said, way too loud. He cleared his throat. “It’s okay, nothing to see here.”_

_“Yeah,” Ben said, smiling. He pointed to the other bed, where not twenty minutes ago he and Bev had been cuddling like some nasty, happy heteros. “Bev forgot her jacket.”_

_“Oh, cool. Yeah.”_

_“Hey, have you been...sleeping here?” Ben asked, quietly, as he walked over to grab the jacket._

_Richie shrugged. “Yeah, kind of.”_

_“That’s really sweet, Richie.”_

_“Shut the fuck up,” Richie laughed, turning slightly away from Ben, as though he could hide his entire fucking body turning red. “It’s no big deal. He just uh. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”_

_“Rich,” Ben started with that quiet, patient voice, and Richie started groaning. “I think it’s really sweet.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, go suck a dick,” Richie groaned._

_“You know that none of us care. About your sexuality or anything. We just want you to be happy.”_

_“Uh, I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“Richie.”_

_Richie finally looked up at Ben’s sweet, stupidly handsome face. He missed when Ben was so tiny, so chubby, kind of wished Ben still was. He knew Ben would still be hot as fuck and super fuckable with the extra weight. Should he talk about this with Ben? God knows Richie had his own body issues but...okay, yeah, he was deflecting maybe, but. Still. Something to circle back to, when the love of his fucking life wasn’t in a coma._

_“Thanks, Benny Boo.” He looked down at Eddie again. “Do you think uh...do you think he knows?”_

_“Nah,” Ben laughed. “Both of you are too stupid to notice.”_

_“_ Both _of us? I wish,” Richie laughed, a little quiet and bitter. He took Eddie’s hand again and rubbed his thumb against the tendons, the lines, each finger, all of them so delicate and just fucking nice. “Nah, I think I’m kind of doomed to always lo--like him. From. The shadows. Or the fucking closet, I guess.”_

_“Hey, crazier things have happened. Look at me and Bev.”_

_Richie rolled his eyes at his stupid, hot friend. “Yeah, it’s so weird when two of the most fuckable human beings on the planet decide to bone. Scientists will study this for_ years _to come.”_

_“Richie--”_

_“We put two 10’s in a room and you won’t_ believe _what happened next!”_

_“Beep beep,” Ben laughed, quietly, and Richie was happy to see that the blushing curse had moved from him to Ben. “Hey. If anyone can understand what you’re feeling, it’s me. And honestly, Richie? I think you have more to hope for than I did. You guys have always been special to one another. Everyone can see it.”_

_“Beeeeeen,” Richie groaned. “Stop_ teasing _me, it_ hurts. _”_

 _“I’m not teasing! And you two are really cute!” Ben was starting to get that fuzzy, almost manic look in his eye that always came up when he saw people doing romantic shit or being soft. That adorable little fucker. “Sure, you’re always being mean to each other, but that’s your_ love language _.”_

 _“Gross,” Richie laughed lightly. He squeezed Eddie’s hand one last time, then let it go. “Okay, you fucking dork, I get it. You think we’re soulmates or whatever. Very nice. Now go and give that jacket back to your one true love and smash your genitals together like the horrible, beautiful monsters you are._ Some _of us have some pining to do.”_

_Ben clapped his hand on Richie’s shoulder, squeezed it, and left with a gentle goodbye. Richie waited fifteen seconds before reaching for Eddie again._

_When Eddie finally woke up two days later, Richie was right the fuck there, already holding his hand. But when Eddie stirred and his hand twitched, Richie let go and didn’t touch him again for several days, despite the constant itching in his fingers that craved it and told him the only way to know he was_ actually _alive was to feel the warmth in his skin, the proof that blood was pumping through that small, brave body._

—

They don’t even leave the disgustingly-rich house the entire first day they get there. Eddie takes a nap in the mid-afternoon, a little tired from traveling. When he finally wakes up it’s seven p.m. and he’s a little grumpy, worried about throwing off his sleep schedule. Richie would love to be able to focus on his actual issues, but he’s a little distracted by Eddie’s hair doing that little ducktail flip in the back like it used to when they were kids. He feels like he has to physically hold himself back from running his fingers through the little Alfalfa-looking strands, smoothing them down. Maybe after he did that Eddie would lean into his hand, put his own hands in Richie’s hair. Maybe they would lean in close, and Richie could run his mouth along that sharp and tight jaw, see if he could get it to unclench, see if--

“Jesus, you annoying little crotch box, are you even listening to me?”

“Crotch box?” Richie asks a little insanely. “What the fuck?”

“I _said_ did you make any dinner or get anything?”

“Oh, uh. Nah. I was waiting for you to wake up and tell me what you’re in the mood for.”

Eddie throws himself into the couch, close-ish to Richie, and pouts, which is just. Insanely cute. Fuck. 

“Shit. I was hoping you would get something.”

“Aww, Eddie love, are you hungry?”

“ _Yeah,_ of _course,_ I am, idiot,” Eddie grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it. 

“Well, what are you in the mood for?”

Eddie is still pouting, then frowning, and he stares at and messes with the nails on his left hand. Richie would give anything--his left kidney, his left nut, the whole left side of his body--to be touching his hand instead.

“I guess I was kind of thinking...seafood? Maybe sushi?”

“Ooo,” Richie practically squeals. “You? Eddie? Eating food that hasn’t been nuked of all potential bacteria?”

“Yeah, I’m. You know. Trying to eat more things. DIfferent things.”

“Hey, if you wanted to eat sushi off my naked body, you just had to ask,” Richie says with a grin. Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes at Richie’s thigh with his foot. Richie grabs his foot by the ankle, then draws it into his lap. Eddie seems a little thrown by this but he doesn’t fight it; he slowly, carefully, puts his other foot in Richie’s lap. Trying to play it cool, Richie just quietly squeezes Eddie’s ankle with one hand, the other opening up Postmates to place the biggest fucking order of sushi he’s ever placed (which is saying a lot, given the disgusting amount of meetings he’s taken in Hollywood). 

They eat about half of it, but Richie doesn’t feel like any of it is wasted. Every single bite Eddie takes is fascinating, as he waits to hear the verdict (which ranges from “gross, fuck this” to “oh shit, scallops are really fucking good”) on what makes Eddie happy. Fuck, he could do this all day, every day, for the rest of his life, just place different, decadent things in front of Eddie and hear his opinion. Do you like this wagyu beef? How about this pâté? 

How about this one, it’s my whole fucking heart, my whole life, do you like this one, too? Please, Eddie. _Please_ like this one. It’s all yours, all for you. It’s always been yours.

—

_“So you’re getting discharged today, huh?”_

_“Rich? Oh, hey. Uh. Yeah. Guess I’m finally out of here.”_

_“Great. And you’re going back to…”_

_“...yeah.”_

_“...Cool.”_

_“Rich. You uh...you know I_ have _to go.”_

_“No, yeah, I know, Eds, I know.”_

_“Don’t call--look. It’s just. She’s my fucking wife.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I have to try.”_

_“Yeah, of course.”_

_“I have a whole fucking_ life _back there, I can’t just.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I_ can’t _.”_

 _“No, yeah, I get it. But. Uh. Do you. Do you_ want _to though?”_

_“Rich…”_

_“Sorry, it was a dumb question..._ oh _.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, you dumbass, and hug me back.”_

_“Yeah...yeah...hey, is this too hard? Am I hurting you?”_

_“Don’t...don’t worry about it. I’ve survived worse than your fucking sasquatch body.”_

_“Yeah, but am I_ hurting _you, though.”_

_“...no. Never.”_

—

So Richie bought him an album. So what if it was, like, from a memory? A nice childhood memory? So what if it was fucking _Boys II Men?_ It didn’t mean anything. Maybe. Okay, so it _meant_ something, but that doesn’t mean _Eddie_ had to know that. As far as he knew, it was just a nice present, bro to bro. A thank you. 

Richie doesn’t know at all what Eddie thinks of it; all he knows is that Eddie is keeping the bag close as they explore the wharf. They grab a quick bite (Eddie once again being adventurous by suggesting they grab something from a _hot dog vendor_ , what the fuck) and then pile into a Lyft (“Richie, their business practice is _much better_ than Uber. Actually, give me your fucking phone. I’m deleting Uber off of it.”) to head to the arcade that Eddie found during his research. It’s one of those bars that also has several now “vintage” arcade machines Richie remembers going absolutely apeshit for as a kid. It’s honestly an incredibly perfect place to go, and it has Richie squealing in Eddie’s ear as they wait at the bar to place an order.

“Aww, _Eds_ ,” he coos, hoping his tone comes off as jokingly-loving instead of. Well. The truth.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You _do_ love me.”

“Not if you keep this shit up,” Eddie grumbles, but Richie can see from the mirror behind the alcohol that Eddie is smiling, actually, and looking a little smug. He grabs the attention of the bartender and gets their orders placed–a vodka soda for Eddie, a top-shelf whiskey neat for Richie–and pays for them, which is a classy as fuck move, honestly, that has Richie’s insides doing the tango. It’s not a date, it’s definitely _not_ a fucking _date,_ but shit. A guy can dream. 

After they’ve successfully turned several $20 bills into a shit ton of arcade coins, Eddie turns to Richie with an absolutely batshit grin on his face.

“Are you ready to get your ass beat at Street Fighter II?”

“Oh you little shit,” Richie growls. “You fucking _wish._ ”

Richie is honestly surprised that they _don’t_ get kicked out of this bar with how loud and competitive they’re being. It’s just like he remembers from being a kid, the screaming and howling in each other’s faces, accusations of cheating, the feet stomping. They’re grown-ass adults reduced to bickering children, but really, is that any different from their normal? They didn’t even _need_ the alcohol to get like this, but Richie isn’t upset about it; after all, if he’s being a little extra handsy, if he’s tickling Eddie to try and distract him before he gets a Fatality in, well. He can always blame the whiskey.

They’ve gone from console to console, revisiting all the hits from their childhood, and the late hour is finally starting to hit them when they see the little photo booth tucked away in the corner. Eddie looks back at Richie, grins, and grabs Richie’s Frankensteinesque hand to drag him over there. And fuck, who is he to say no?

“Oof,” Richie grunts when he’s pushed into the tiny booth. “I remember these being way bigger when we were kids.”

“Hush,” Eddie says, trying to squish in the booth. It’s a tight squeeze, what with Richie being a rectangular behemoth from some hairy dimension of ugliness, which leads Eddie to–fuck, _fuck_ –kind of half-sit in Richie’s lap to make sure they fit. 

_Fucking Christ on a cracker, Jesus fuck, hairy tits of Mary_ … 

“Uh,” Richie squeaks, intelligently. 

“Shut up and look cute,” Eddie says, pressing the button on the photo booth screen.

“Impossible,” Richie croaks. 

The first frame is a disaster; Eddie looks cool, obviously, hitting some great angles with his amazing fucking cheekbones. Richie looks like he’s having a gay panic attack, which he kind of is, as he’s leaning backward and away from Eddie to try and pretend this isn’t happening.

Eddie huffs when he sees the flash of that first frame.

“Stop being a lame-ass and get closer,” he grumbles, putting his arm around Richie’s shoulder–fuck? What? Fuck?–and pulling him in closer. 

If possible the second frame is even _more_ of a disaster; Eddie looks relaxed and very happy, smiling quietly and very attractively into the camera. Richie, however, is just staring up at Eddie with huge eyes, mouth open, so you can’t even see most of his face in the picture.

“Oh my god you’re fucking _impossible_ ,” Eddie shouts. He then takes _both_ of his hands, places them on either side of Richie’s head, and forces him to look at the camera. He even pushes a little until Richie’s cheeks are squished between his hands, and he’s making a hilarious-looking fish face.

“Smile for the camera, Rich,” Eddie sing-songs. When the camera flashes, Richie has one eye closed in silent laughter, the rest of his face squished lovingly between those Eddie-mitts. Eddie himself is grinning like a maniac, and the overall effect is. Well. It’s something.

“Oh you little shit, I’m gonna get you back,” Richie growls. It’s easy, it’s too fucking easy, to finally pull Eddie fully into his lap and just start going to fucking _town_ with the tickling. The result is a blurry picture for frame four, with Eddie trying and failing to escape Richie’s arms, and Richie licking Eddie’s cheek-scar just for good gross-out measure.

“Oh my god, you _animal_ , can we have _one_ fucking normal picture? It’s the last one,” Eddie gasps, out-of-breath and red-faced and just really, really fucking beautiful. Richie huffs a little laugh and smiles back at him.

“Yeah, okay fine, you normie.”

The fifth frame is, well. Eddie has his arm back around Richie, and they’re close. They’re both looking at the camera this time, faces pressed together, and they’re both smiling and _God_. Eddie would have to be _blind_ to not see the pure, gay joy in Richie’s face that comes from having his Eds so close, from touching him.

Eddie smiles at the strip in his hand, then carefully tucks it into his bag with the Boys II Men record.

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

“Yeah,” Richie croaks. _You can keep a lot of things._

—

_After the hospital, Richie didn’t get another chance to touch Eddie until December of 2017, which was too fucking many months later if you ask him (nobody did). The group had decided to get together for a joint Hanukkah-Christmas party, hosted by Stan and Patty in their gorgeous home--which made Richie think that maybe he should take a look at moving somewhere that didn’t cost millions of dollars for a glorified box with a roof. When Richie arrived at a time that could generously be described as “fashionably late,” the first thing he could see was, naturally, Eddie’s smiling face. Just seeing him, Richie felt truly insane, like he was vibrating out of his skin, just for being so fucking_ close _to him again. He could just reach out if he wanted to. He could grab Eddie, give him a noogie maybe? Pinch him. Playfully shove maybe, wrestle him. Something aggro, to make up for the fact that all he really wanted to do was run a finger down his entire body, from forehead to ankle, just feeling, just experiencing. He wanted to touch him all over, know that he_ was _real and he_ was _alive,_ was _right fucking there…_

_“Spaghetti!” is what he ended up crowing, taking giant steps to cross the room and then grabbing Eddie by both shoulders and shaking him where he stood._

_“What the fuck, numbnuts!” Eddie shrieked, as the wine he was holding sloshed around and almost–but not quite–spilled over the top. “Watch it!”_

_“My love,” Richie started singing in an over-the-top, opera-esque vibrato. He pulled Eddie under his arm and held him in a headlock, swaying him. “He has retuuurned to me!”_

_“Shut the fuck_ up _you overgrown Muppet fuck,” Eddie growled, finally stomping on Richie’s foot until he was released. The rest of the room was howling with laughter, cutely coupled up in a way that made Richie’s teeth itch and his skin feel too tight with some barely-contained jealousy. Besides Stan and Patty, Ben and Bev were being cute on one of the couches; it looked like Bev had dragged Ben into her lap, and while he was trying to be polite and not be too heavy for her she had her arms encircling his entire waist (which was looking a little fuller, making Richie_ very _happy indeed), keeping him close. Daddy Bev was a nice thing to think about, and Richie definitely_ would _. Now carefully backed further away from Eddie were Mike and Bill, who were standing suspiciously close, actually? Richie made a note to check in with Big Bill and see if he was finally getting some of that Big Mike. (How gay_ was _his friend group? And why was it never the ones you_ wanted _to be gay?)_

_And then there was Eddie, and…_

_“Hey, where is your wife?”_

_“Ah,” Eddie said, taking a sip of his wine with a suspiciously shaky hand. “I didn’t think she would enjoy being dragged here.”_

_“Oh, too cool for us Losers?” Richie laughed. Was that his heart picking up with a little hope? Nah. Couldn’t be, fuck off._

_“Well, she’s spending the month with her family. They’re worried about her and, you know, probably don’t want to see me right now. So. I’m free.”_

_“Wait, why wouldn’t they want to see you?” Richie asked. “You almost died and they’re, what, mad at you for it?”_

_“Uh,” Eddie laughed nervously. “No, it’s the. You know.”_

_“Eddie,” Bev spoke up from behind the beefcake wall that was Ben. “Did you not tell Richie yet?”_

_“Tell me what?!” Richie was practically screeching at this point, because fuck dignity. “Did you kill a guy?”_

_“What? No, that’s your thi–I mean. No. I’m uh. Getting a divorce.” Eddie said with a small shrug. He paused, bit his lip, and frowned. “Merry Christmas, Rich?”_

_One beat of silence. Two. Three. Then Richie couldn’t hold it in anymore; all of his nervous and confused energy exploded into a fit of giggles that eventually–whoops, yeah, then he was on the floor all of a sudden, oops._

_“What the fuck, dude? Are you okay?” Eddie was leaning over him, and of course he was perfectly placed so there was a fucking_ halo _surrounding his head. Despite the shadows, Richie could see his face, and it was glorious. Beautiful and confused, eyebrows looking like they were two caterpillars fighting with each other, and Richie had never seen anything more dazzling in his life._

_“Yeah, I’m fine!” Richie gasped through giggles. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but it’s fucking hilarious.”_

_“Oh yeah, it’s just my_ life _, cumwad, nothing_ serious _or anything…”_

_Richie tried multiple times to respond but he couldn’t; he kept dissolving back into giggles. The rest of the room rolled their eyes, probably, and went back to their normal conversations. After a few seconds, Eddie finally crouched down and sat next to the heap of laughter formerly known as “Richie.”_

_“Wow, bud, sorry for being such a dick,” Richie finally said when he was calmed down enough._

_“Eh, what else is new.”_

_“No, I’m really...I’m sorry, Eddie. That sucks.”_

_“Eh. I guess. It’s fine. It’s been a long time coming. We’re both gonna be happier now.”_

_“Yeah,” Richie said quietly. He was still laying down, face tilted to look at Eddie from where he lay. He looked so fucking nice right now and it was unfair. If Richie didn’t know any better, he would think that he had maybe dressed up a little? His shirt was clinging really,_ really _nicely to his frame, his hair was a little bit longer and a little wavier, and fuck...was he wearing cologne? Was that Tom Ford? Was that fucking Tom Ford “Fucking Fabulous” Tom Ford? The scent made to personally drive Richie wild, probably named after Edward Fucking Kaspbrack? Shit, Richie was never going to be able to smell this again without getting a half-chub. A little feminine, sure, but it was...shitfuckgoodnice._

_“Hey,” Richie finally broke out of his silence. “I’m glad you’re happy. That’s the only fucking thing I care about. The only thing that matters.”_

_“Shut up,” Eddie said, but he couldn’t hide that half-smirk from Richie. “Thanks, dickhole. I want that for you, too.”_

_“Aww, Eds, do you_ like _me?!” Richie shrieked. He reached his arms out and made grabby motions with his hands. Eddie almost jumped, started to move away, but Richie (and the rest of the Losers) were quicker; without missing a beat, Mike reached down and took Eddie’s glass from his hands, freeing him up for Richie’s octopus arms to engulf his prey and bring him down, down to his level._

_“Fuck everybody here! You’re all fake fucking friends!” Eddie screamed as Richie squeezed Eddie close to himself. From over the coffee table, Richie could see Ben grinning at him, hands in little fists under his chin, looking like he could be cooing at an adorable fucking infant instead of two grown men flailing around on the ground. Richie quietly flipped him off, then continued to wrestle Eddie into submission._

_Hey, even if this was the only way he could have him, or ever_ would _have him, it was still pretty fucking good._

—

Eddie has been working out in the house and driving Richie wild. He fucking threw his  _ delicious smelling shirt in his fucking face _ , and then came up close and looked like he was going to  _ kiss _ Richie and he just--he broke. He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be so close yet so far without trying. He thought of Ben, and he hoped, and he just. He had to try. Eddie had come out to him the night before so. Maybe? 

So he asks. Before Eddie can walk away, he grabs him by the wrist, pulls him back. And he asks.

“Am I crazy?” Richie asks Eddie, voice breaking a little. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie gives Richie a small half-smile, and Richie’s heart fucking stutters in his stupid, fucking chest. 

“You’re not crazy, Rich. You aren’t reading this wrong.”

“Oh,” Richie says, and fuck, he can already feel his entire face breaking in half into what must be the goofiest smile of all time. “Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.” 

Then they’re just grinning at each other like idiots. Richie can’t breathe--is he breathing? Maybe? All systems go, Captain, except your fucking brain. He’s melted, probably. Is any of this real? Maybe? Well. If it’s a dream, he might as well. Push his luck, maybe.

“So, like. Do you want to make out?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie says, and then he’s climbing over Richie on the couch. Richie immediately grabs Eddie by the hips as his tight, toned thighs straddle him, and  _ fuck _ . It’s really,  _ really _ cool. 

Richie has imagined kissing Eddie probably millions of times in the last thirty years, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. Eddie is kissing him like he’s afraid Richie is going to disappear, as if there’s literally anywhere else in the fucking universe he would rather be. He’s mapping Richie’s mouth and teeth with his tongue, thoroughly claiming him in a way that would probably be gross if it wasn’t Eddie. But it  _ is _ Eddie, it’s his Eds, and he’s just intense and neurotic and clearly wants to know every single fucking centimeter of Richie’s mouth, and who is Richie to stand in his way? Explore away, man, it’s all yours.

They’ve barely started anything and Richie’s already feeling light-headed; if his eyes were open, he knows his vision would be hazy, fuzzy around the edges. His giant hands are useless, just gripping Eddie’s waist, his thighs, his arms, his shoulders.  _ Fuck _ , everything about Eddie feels so  _ nice.  _ He trails one hand below his abs, which are unfairly toned for a forty-year-old, just a little sweaty already from the workout Eddie had just been doing. 

“Fuck,” Richie gasps when Eddie moves off of his mouth to trail kisses along his jaw. “You smell, you smell…”

“Fucking fabulous?” Eddie mumbles and Richie can hear the smile.

“Shit! I knew it!” Richie is laughing, a little hysterically, around a moan. “God, how did you know I love this one?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, then pauses, and bites lightly at Richie’s jaw. It’s, shit, it’s a good distraction. What were they talking about? “A Twitter AMA you did last year. You said you liked it.”

“Shit,” Richie groans, just a little more light-headed than before. His hips ground up in Eddie’s of their own volition, ripping a glorious fucking noise from Eddie’s throat. “You follow me on Twitter?”

“Duh,” Eddie huffs a laugh against his skin, then– _ fuck– _ runs his tongue down the entirety of Richie’s throat. “I wanted to smell good for you.”

“ _ Eddie, _ ” Richie whines, hands gripping Eddie’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, probably. “That shit is so expensive! Hundreds of dollars for the good size.”

“Worth it,” Eddie breathes against Richie’s neck, then moves to recapture his lips. Richie groans into Eddie’s mouth, practically sobbing with how turned on he is. They haven’t really  _ done _ anything yet and he already feels like he’s melting out of his fucking skin. Eddie is nipping lightly at his bottom lip, then pressing in bruisingly close, both of their mouths open just so fucking wide, like they could really become one person if they tried hard enough.

Richie’s hands roam further, tracing along Eddie’s waist, his chest, before coming back to tentatively run a finger near his scar.

“Don’t,” Eddie pulls back and whispers.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to,” Eddie whispers.

Richie looks up into his eyes, puts one hand on Eddie’s cheek, runs a finger along his scar there.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to but I...I want to.”

Eddie just stares for a moment, his gigantic, fucking Bambi eyes tracking back and forth between Richie’s. Finally, he nods, and sits back. He’s still straddling Richie on the huge as fuck couch, but he’s sitting up. 

Carefully, Richie touches lightly close to the divot in Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s abs contract in response, but he makes no further movement. Slowly, so slowly, Richie continues to touch closer and closer to the scar, lovingly caressing the entirety of his abdomen. When he finally makes contact with the scar, Eddie shudders a little.

“Sorry, Rich,” Eddie whispers above Richie. “I know it’s ugly.”

“No, baby, no,” Richie says. He looks up at Eddie’s face, making sure he’s paying attention. “Nothing about you is ugly. You could never.”

Richie brings his fingers back to his own mouth, presses a kiss on the tips, and then presses those tips straight onto the scar. Eddie shudders, but this time it seems happy, relieved.

“Rich,” Eddie whines, and Richie understands, he really, really fucking does. He’s already feeling so fucking relieved that Eddie can overlook Richie’s own, weird body and find something to like about it. Maybe, maybe, for some reason, Eddie is feeling the same. 

Carefully, Rich moves his hands to cradle Eddie’s entire abdomen, and then he switches their positions until Eddie is laying flat against the couch and Richie is perched above him. He then lowers his head down to Eddie’s chest and starts pressing slow, loving kisses to the scar and the tissue that surrounds it. Eddie is breathing harder, but quiet, trying not to disturb Richie, and Richie just finds it so fucking endearing. He continues to drag his lips along the scar, pausing every once in a while to press a longer, harder kiss. He loves it.

Richie comes up for a moment to press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek scar.

“I love them,” Richie whispers. When he pulls back, Eddie is still staring at him, eyes looking noticeably wetter.

“Why? They’re ugly.”

“They’re amazing. They’re proof that you  _ lived _ . Proof that you  _ are _ stronger,  _ are _ braver than you think. I  _ love  _ them. I love them because I lo...I love you, Eds.”

Eddie stares back for a moment before grabbing Richie’s hair to drag him back in for a soul-sucking kiss. A leg wraps around Richie’s waist, bringing their crotches together, and  _ shit _ , yeah, Eddie is  _ just _ as affected as Richie is,  _ fuck _ . 

“I love you too, dumbass,” Eddie whispers against Richie’s mouth. Richie can’t help it; he starts grinning. Eddie is still trying to kiss him back, but he’s mostly just kissing around Richie’s mouth and his teeth, because he can’t fucking stop grinning.

“Really?”

“Really,” Eddie says, rolling his hips up, groaning into Richie’s open mouth. “Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how much I love you?”

Richie moans in response, hips stuttering back against Eddie’s. “That’s some big love, baby.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie huffs, capturing Richie’s mouth again. Eddie continues to grind their pelvises together in a slow, sexy roll that has Richie’s brain melting from his ears. God, he hasn’t shot a load in his pants in decades, but he definitely  _ will _ if this tiny sex demon he loves doesn’t fucking  _ stop _ . He has to put a stop to this or he’s gonna hate himself.

Richie pulls back, pressing Eddie down by his pecs. “Can I suck you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie stutters out. His eyes are  _ huge _ , pupils  _ completely _ blown, and  _ shit _ but it’s a good look on him. “Yeah, I haven’t done that much but uh. Yeah. That sounds. Yeah.”

“Trashmouth got your tongue?” Richie laughs as he starts shuffling backward on the couch. Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn’t do much else, propping himself up on his elbows to watch the show. And you know what? Richie is a goddamn performer. He can  _ do _ this. 

Richie pulls at Eddie’s workout shorts while Eddie toes off his shoes clumsily. When all of that is on the ground (is that driving Eddie insane? Probably) Richie moves to slowly, carefully peel Eddie’s boxer briefs off. When he’s done, Richie has a moment where he  _ has _ to just stare, because  _ fuck _ , man. Can you fall in love with somebody all over again because they just have such a pretty cock? Probably not, but he’s doing it anyway.

“You’re overdressed,” Eddie complains after a few moments of silence. Richie laughs, tells him to deal with it, and leans down to engulf as much of Eddie’s cock in his mouth as he can at once.

Thankfully, Richie was smart enough to put a forearm across Eddie’s abdomen as he went down; if he didn’t, Eddie would have risen right the fuck up off of the couch like some mummy brought back to life. He certainly sounds like one, gasping wetly above Richie.

“Holy shit, holy  _ fuck _ , fucking  _ Trashmouth _ what the  _ fuck, _ ” Eddie gasps. Did it go to Richie’s head? You bet it fucking did. Richie thinks, crazily, that he would like to go back and personally high-five every dude he’s ever gone down on to thank them for the preparation for this, his finest and most important performance. Richie alternates between sucking Eddie down whole, throat working at the end, and pulling off to run his wet lips up and down the entire shaft. Eddie is pulsing in Richie’s hands and mouth, twitching, and Richie has never, ever felt more fucking  _ powerful _ than this moment.  _ I did this _ , he thinks, as he tongues at the head of Eddie’s gorgeous fucking dick.  _ I made him like this _ .

After a few minutes, Eddie’s hands finally flutter into Richie’s hair, pulling lightly. Richie groans a little at this, looking up at Eddie just in time to catch the look in his eyes when he finds Richie Tozier’s fucking cheat code. Eddie looks manic and powerful.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, nodding a little crazily as Richie moves to swallow him down again. “Do you like that?” He punctuates the question with a harder pull, making Richie fully groan around his dick. “Do you like me telling you what to do? Putting you exactly where I want you?”

Richie just whimpers around the cock in his mouth, drooling just a little. It’s wet, it’s disgusting, and it feels so fucking  _ good _ . In response to Eddie’s question, he arches his back a little and increases the speed of his bobbing up and down. Eddie’s eyes are fluttering, but he’s still staring straight into Richie’s eyes.

“You’re so fucking good for me, aren’t you? So fucking good. What a good boy you are.”

Richie can’t help the sounds he makes at that, humping at the air just a little. The look on Eddie’s face is glorious, powerful, and Richie fucking  _ loves _ to see it, loves that he put it there.

“Sweetheart, baby, you have to stop. You gotta, you gotta stop if you want me to fuck you.”

Richie shoots back, letting go of his cock with a loud pop, his mouth hanging open. 

“Shit. You wanna fuck me, Eds?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, heated eyes moving down Richie’s still-clothed body. “I really, really fucking do.”

Richie gulps, vision going completely hazy around the edges.  _ Siri, when you get everything you’ve ever wanted does it feel like you’re dying? _

“Do you have...did you bring everything?” Eddie finally asks, petting Richie’s hair. Richie pushes his head into the motion, pretty sure he would be purring if he was a fucking cat. 

“Uh...yeah. Yeah, I always have some stuff in my travel bag.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but don’t get jealous. Don’t usually get to use it, though,” Richie says with a shrug. Eddie huffs out a laugh. 

“Well you won’t have that problem anymore, Rich,” he says, then tugs at Richie’s hair a little, smiling at the noise it produces. “God, I can’t get fucking tired of that. Love how you sound.”

It takes a few minutes, but they make it back to Richie’s room. For how often he’s normally naked, or at least partially nude, Richie is suddenly a little worried about showing more skin. Looking at Eddie, there is just a  _ lot _ to compete with, and next to that tight little bod he knows he looks like a weird, hairy monster. By the time they get to Richie’s bed, however, Eddie is having none of that; his hands are practically ripping Richie’s clothes off of him, eyes wild as they take in every new inch of bare body.

“Jesus,” Richie is laughing as Eddie shoved Richie’s sweatpants to the ground. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I’m trying to get _into_ _you,_ jackass,” Eddie mumbles, shoving Richie’s underwear to the ground as well. Richie’s own dick slaps against his stomach with an embarrassingly wet sound, but for some crazy reason Eddie seems into it. 

“Oh,” he breathes, reaching out to wrap a hand around Richie’s girth. Richie looks down and,  _ shit _ , Eddie’s hands look so  _ good _ on him. He’s smaller than Richie, duh, hands much more beautiful and delicate, so for some reason he looks so much  _ bigger _ in Eddie’s hands. “Hey. Not right now, but soon, I’m gonna put my fucking mouth on this monster cock of yours.”

“What the fuck?” Richie gurgles out.  _ Siri, what does it feel like when you’re dying? Alexa? Space turtle? Anybody? _

“Hey, can you prep yourself? I’ve never done it to somebody else before, and I want to see how you do it.”

“Uh,” Richie says from somewhere very, very far away. Heaven, probably. “Yeah, I can. I can do that. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good,” Eddie says, nodding to himself. Then he smacks Richie in the ass, just once, before walking away to get the lube and condoms. “Good boy.”

Well, that’s it. Richie is definitely in heaven because what the  _ fuck _ who is  _ this _ why is Eddie  _ perfect _ .

Richie is on his bed, sitting on his knees when Eddie comes back and hands him the bottle of lube. He opens it, gets his fingers nice and slick, moves to rest on one forearm and reaches back, starting to run the slickness along his crack and around his hole. After a moment, he slowly slides one finger in, gasping in relief.

Eddie takes turns watching Richie’s progress, studying him, really, and pressing hot, wet kisses to Richie’s face, jaw and neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers against Richie’s neck. “Getting yourself ready for me. I can’t wait to slide into you.”

“Eddie,” Richie whines, now up to two fingers. “Fuck, I can’t wait.”

“You’re gonna be so hot and tight around me, won’t you?”

“I’ll be so good, baby,” Richie gasps. He hears the bottle open, so he opens one eye to see Eddie slicking his own hand up, then pump his condom-wrapped dick a few times. 

“Can I…?” Eddie asks, moving his hand back to Richie’s ass.

“Please,” Richie moans, and then it’s there; Eddie slides one finger in alongside Richie’s, and his brain goes white-hot with pleasure. That’s  _ Eddie _ , and he’s  _ inside him,  _ there’s a part of Eddie  _ inside him _ , like Richie always knew he should be. They move together for a while, fingers pumping in tandem, and it’s  _ so _ much better like this.

“God, baby, you’re so, so hot,” Eddie is whispering next to Richie’s ear. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Now, now, I want you in me  _ now _ ,” Richie is practically sobbing, his face pressed into his own forearm. Eddie presses a kiss to the side of Richie’s head, then pulls his finger out. He grabs a wipe from next to the bed–good ol’ Eds–and cleans his hands, then Richie’s fingers.

“Can you turn over, please, sweetheart? I want to see your face,” Eddie asks, lightly pressing against Richie’s shoulder. Richie nods, then turns, opening his legs wide for Eddie to get between them. When he does, Eddie runs his hands up from Richie’s ankles to the tops of his thighs, sighing the whole way. “Fuck, I’ve thought of this so many times.”

“Me, too, fuck,” Richie whispers. Eddie pushes up on Richie’s right leg, just a little, until he’s poised and ready at Richie’s entrance.

“Are you ready?”

“Fuck yeah.”

It’s.

_ Fuck _ .

Richie wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out from sheer happiness and pleasure from Eddie entering him, because he’s just that sappy and stupid. But  _ Christ _ it feels  _ amazing, _ he feels so  _ full _ of Eddie and full of  _ love. _ The first slide is slow, torturously so, as they both breathe hot into each other’s faces as they get used to the feeling of being connected like this for the first time.

“Fuck,” Richie whines, his whole back arching as Eddie slides in further. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, inching forward just a little more.

“I feel so  _ emotional _ , dude.”

“Same,” Eddie laughs, smiling down at Richie. “This is really fucking nice.”

“Shit, yeah, understatement,” Richie whispers. His heart is fluttering in his chest, and then Eddie bottoms out, and it’s the goddamn best he’s ever felt in his  _ life _ . “God. I never thought I could feel like this.”

Eddie smiles, then reaches up and pushes a curl out of Richie’s face. It’s so much like when Eddie was in the hospital, but a million times better. Richie grabs Eddie’s hand, lightly, then presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Eddie stutters out a little breath, then leans down, resting on his forearms until he can connect their mouths together again. 

When he finally starts fucking, he starts  _ fucking _ . Every single stroke punches a breath out of Richie, straight back into Eddie’s mouth, as their kissing gets sloppy. They’re just a whole mess by now, sweat and weird noises and the slaps of their skin hitting each other every time Eddie hits all the way home. Richie is scrambling, his hands running up and down Eddie’s shoulders, arms, back, over and over, can’t get fucking enough of it. He feels so hot, so overheated, like he’s going to fucking explode, but what a way to fucking go. 

“Gooood,” Eddie moans, long and breathless, as he pushes up on Richie’s legs even more until the angle is dragging against Richie’s prostate and driving him up the fucking wall. “Love your fucking thighs. So big and strong.”

“Love your mouth,” Richie gasps back. 

“Love your shoulders, your fucking  _ arms, Christ _ .”

“Love your abs.”

“Love your tits.”

“Love you.”

“Love  _ you _ . Are you gonna cum for me, Richie?” Eddie pulls back now, straightens his back, so he can wrap one arm around Richie’s thigh and the other hand around Richie’s cock, which is  _ aching _ by now with how hard it is.

“Fuck yeah,” Richie sobs. “Please, baby, just like that.”

“So good for me,” Eddie pants, his thrusts getting shorter, harder now. “So. Fucking.  _ Good _ for me.”

Richie is only a little embarrassed that this is what pushes him over the edge, the love of his fucking life telling him how  _ good _ he is. He hopes Eddie is enjoying the show as he pushes, back arching, and shoots his load harder than he can remember ever doing so in his fucking  _ life. _ He’s pretty sure he just hit his own goddamn  _ chin, _ what the  _ fuck _ , but apparently Eddie is into that? Eds pushes in only a few more times before he’s also stuttering out his own orgasm, slamming into Richie’s worn out ass once, twice and then staying there as he rides out the waves.

When he finally collapses next to Richie, he lets Richie wrap around him for only a few seconds before he starts fighting back.

“No, fuck, I love you, but fuck, I gotta clean up a little,” Eddie whines. Richie distracts him for a few more seconds with open-mouthed kisses, but in the end, the little germaphobe wins out. Richie just lays there, fully fucking sated for the first time in his life, maybe, as he watches that tight little ass he loves flutter back and forth to clean up both himself and Richie. When he’s finally done, though, he does let Richie pull him into his arms and press sweet kisses to his cheek.

“That was fucking awesome, dude,” Richie finally says.

“Hmm, yes, totally tubular,” Eddie says in an over-exaggerated Valley voice.

“You fuckin’ nerd. I love you.”

“Love you.” Eddie is looking at him, and maybe for the first time since they were kids, he only looks like he has seven, maybe eight wrinkles in his forehead. Richie rubs a thumb along the bones of Eddie’s face, enjoying the closeness, enjoying just being able to touch him now without feeling predatory or weird. 

But then, he thinks of something, and he starts giggling.

“What? What the fuck?”

“Wel _ cum _ to California, Eds,” Richie giggles, thinking of the text he had sent to Eddie just a few, short days ago. 

And if Eddie tries to smother him with a pillow after that? Well, there’s nobody around to judge either of them. 

—

When the reviews come in, Richie is holding Eddie’s hands. Just how it fucking should be.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. not to out every bad decision I’ve ever made in my life, but I made a Twitter to keep up with the SMAU content. It’s mouthytrash


End file.
